


Linger

by BoxWineConfessions



Series: Jilted [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, FWB to boyfriends, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, you don't have to read pt 1 to understand pt 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:38:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: Phichit wasn’t supposed to be a lover that lingered. He’d simply intended to give the boy what he wanted, and take what he wanted, and make the best of a very unfortunate situation. So much for that sentiment. In that moment, it’s very clear to him that he’s lingered just as much as Phichit has.For Phichimetti week 2017.





	Linger

Phichit opens the minibar and extracts two tiny bottles of vodka hoping that this is the _right_ amount to produce that warm and fuzzy, lowered inhibition, but not quite sloppy feeling that he so desperately needs right now. He’s in over his head. What on earth was he thinking, inviting Christophe here? A quick rendezvous after Worlds was one thing, but now that Phichit’s virginity is gone surely Chris has expectations?

Phichit twists the cap and listens to the sharp pop of the bottle. He drinks half of the first bottle, and winces as he feels the liquid go down. Then, he downs the rest, and chases it with fruit juice. It feels childish, chasing expensive liquor with juice like this. Chris would have it on the rocks or with seltzer. It simply serves as further proof that he’s in way, way, way over his head.

Phichit pops the lid on the second bottle. Then, he strides over to where he’s laid everything out for Chris arrival. Tightly, he grips a bottle of lubricant. “Alright Chulanont, you can do this. No different from what you do every day, sometimes twice a day, when you’re alone.”

* * *

 

Chris is rapidly getting in over his head. Phichit wasn’t supposed to be a lover that lingered. He’d simply intended to give the boy what he wanted, and take what he wanted, and make the best of a very unfortunate situation.

So much for that sentiment. Lovers that did not linger weren’t saved in his phone as “mon chou Chulanont.” Lovers that did not linger were not reoccurring Skype dates. If there was any form of communication at all it was conducted in the form of hastily removed clothing, turning the camera downward, and putting on one hell of a show for the audience.

It wasn’t a simple line of dialogue by any means. There were many dialects and accents and ways to rephrase what one meant: the flick of the wrist, or a bitten lip, or sultry bedroom eyes. It wasn’t simple, but it was much easier than what he and Phichit had been doing.

There was increasingly _more_ conversation than simple, “how was your day,” and “how is the new routine coming,” and quite frankly it scared Chris. He was just as hesitant to end the calls as he was to begin them.

“Are you satisfied?” Phichit asked him one night. His face was pressed against his duvet, and the lights were dim. Chris could only see him in the faint blue light of his laptop’s monitor. It was strangely intimate the way that he looked at him sleepily, and with a half-smile.

“Of course Phichit. Although I will have to brush up on my Thai to understand all the filthy things I’m sure you said.”

“Not like that,” Phichit responded pulling at a stray string on his hoodie. “Your career. Life. Everything. I think I’m having one of those quarter life crises.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Chris found it odd that they hadn’t hung up as soon as they’d both cum.

And of course, there were other questions that weren’t really questions at all, “I’m worried about Pyeongchang.”

“How so, mon chou?”

“My mother is already started asking if she should book a flight. I don’t know how to tell her I’m not even sure enough if I’ll get past preliminaries.”

“But wouldn’t she want to watch those as well?”

The fact of the matter is, Chris was in well over his head _before_ he booked a business class flight to Bangkok. He was in well over his head _before_ he picked out no less than seven different packages of the finest Swiss chocolate that he could find. He was in well over his head before he found himself at Tiffany and Company selecting an offensively expensive braided leather bracelet, but he had to bring a gift to his gracious host. Chris was well in over his head. Although he cannot quite pinpoint when and where it began, he fears that it began somewhere between Phichit kissing him while drunk, and having Phichit naked in a bubble bath.

These things have a habit of crashing forward, whether you particularly want them to or not. Chris decides this as his finger fumbles over the number for the taxi cab company three times. Chris knows, better than most people perhaps, that there is no proper or convenient time to initiate the process of falling in love.

* * *

 

Chris, as instructed via a text message laden with every color and configuration of heart emoji, along with several eggplant emoji’s, mentions Phichit’s reservation number at the front desk, and all too soon a plastic key card concealed in a thin white paper sleeve is thrust into his hand.

Chris takes the elevator to the fourteenth floor, and stares at his reflection in the mirrored ceiling. Chris raps on the door twice, before being given permission to come in. Immediately he’s greeted with the sight of Phichit, and what a sight it is to behold. Phichit has poured himself into a pair of black lace panties that fit him so perfectly.

Chris drops his luggage, and closes the scant distance between them. The touch is tinged with the conflict tugs of pure warmth and pure need. Phichit’s smile is wide, and his eyes shine with the benign mischief that has captivated the world. Their touches are blunt and mismatched in the way that only people, hungry for one another can be. Chris drags his hands down the smooth skin of Phichit’s back, and feels the way that his fingers rise and fall along the ridges of his spine. Phichit immediately works a hand in between his unbuttoned shirt collar and his skin.

The kiss that they share is deepened immediately, but exploratory in nature. As they tentatively press against one another, it seems as if all of this would fall apart if one misstep was taken.

“Chris,” Phichit pulls away slightly. “You made it!” And he’s positively beaming now.

“Of course mon chou,” and he doesn’t miss the way that Phichit keens when he says it, nor does he miss the way that he tastes of thick candy flavored liqueur. “I did not know that I would be treating to sightseeing right away.”

“I mean, if that’s alright,” but Phichit’s already working at the remaining buttons of his shirt, and touching whatever bits of skin he exposes in his wake. “There is a lot to do here in Bankok.”

Chris catches his hand in his own, and delicately he kisses the tips of each of Phichit’s fingers. “But of course. I came here,” he interrupts himself to knead the firm flesh of Phichit’s ass. So desperately, he wants to bend him over the bed, and look, and touch, and tear away the delicate lace wrapping on his gift. “To be immersed,” he continues, and then interrupts with a kiss. “In Thailand. Her culture,” another kiss, this time when they part their mouths are connected by a thin strand of saliva. “Her people,” another kiss frantic and urgent.

“You’re doing it again,” Phichit says when they part. His eyes are half lidded and Phichit looks at him as if he’s smoldering. “Laying it on thick. That’s my job tonight. You’re my guest.” And at that, Phichit takes the shirt in his hands and pops off the rest of his buttons.

Phichit walks them backwards until his knees hit the back of the bed. Then, he’s pushed downward and straddled. Chris has no idea what it is that he’s done to deserve this, but he wants to thank the universe, and god for every second of Phichit’s brazen confidence.

“I got you another present.” Phichit says. “You’ll have to unwrap it.”

“I haven’t gotten the opportunity to fully enjoy this one.” Chris responds. Chris rolls them over, and pulls back so that he can really look at Phichit. His confidence waxes and wanes from moment to moment. Where there was nothing but brazen confidence in his eyes before, Phichit’s expression is softened now. There’s something uncertain there.  Phichit bites his lip pensively, but his mouth is still pulled into a warm and infectious smile.

His skin is just as smooth and warm and inviting as Phichit remembers it being in Helsinki. Chris’ eyes roam across the firm muscle of his biceps, the dip in skin at his clavicle, past the pert brown nipples that melt into luxurious smith skin, and across the flat of his stomach. The muscles contrast into a sharp angular v at his hips and demand that he bring his gaze downward to the lace underwear.

Chris kisses all of these places and savors each before resting his lips on the hemline of the underwear. “Now, I’m ready to unwrap gift.”

“Not yet,” Phichit flips their position and tugs at his belt. When it’s undone he pops the button on his pants, and he wonders if any of his clothing will survive this encounter. He can only hope that the answer is ‘no’. “You don’t get to just run the show.”

Phichit shoots him another grin that’s filled with genuine joy. Phichit palms his cock and his balls through his underwear, and the simple gesture has such an incredible effect upon him. He can already feel a damp patch forming on the front of his briefs, “oh darling.”

Phichit gets his underwear pulled down too, and immediately takes him into his mouth. Chris can almost immediately see that he’s taken in too much at once, but it _feels_ amazing. He dreams of Phichit’s plush lips. He’s haunted by the image of his soft pink tongue flicking out to gather the last few drops of whatever surgery alcohol he’s drinking.

Phichit does his best to conceal the fact that he’s gagging.

“Easy, Phichit. Easy,” and Chris threads his fingers into thick coal black hair. “I want this to last.”

Phichit complies, and takes less of him into his mouth. Phichit laps at the tip of his cock, and rubs it against his lips, and takes him back again, stopping himself with a tight fist wrapped around the base. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Phichit says in a voice that is husky.”

“You’re quite good at it,” Chris notes. He wonders if he’s had the opportunity to practice, if this is another first for Phichit. The idea of both is intoxicating. The idea of both is terrifying.

Phichit nuzzles the skin at the crease of his thigh. He takes a bit of skin into his mouth and nips at the flesh lightly. “You should see the look on your face Chris.” Phichit takes him into his mouth and allows his cock to rest against his tongue for a moment before hollowing his cheeks and sucking. Then, he pulls off of him again with an audible pop. “Like I’m sorry,” he traces a vein on the underside of his cock. “I can’t believe I’m making Chris Giacometti, look like that.” Phichit opens his mouth again as if he wants to speak but the words never come. He holds back, but Chris knows what comes next: genuine surprise that someone with his reputation is impressed with raw, simple enthusiasm.

Except, as Phichit will learn, that kind of thing is not easily possessed, and extremely difficult to hold onto.

“It is the truth,” and Chris tussles his hair.

Phichit repositions himself, and swallows him down again. Phichit can feel him tilt his head just so that his throat is relaxed, and he can take more of him in. Chris props himself up on his elbows, caresses the soft skin of Phichit’s jawline. “Phichit please.”

Phichits eyes flutter open, and the way that he bats his impossibly long eyelashes at him is a silent challenge. “Phichit, กรุณา.” He’s sure that his accent is horrendous, but somehow it works.

“Alright,” Phichit says after he pulls off of his cock. “You can open it now.”

Chris positions Phichit on his knees. He hooks his fingers underneath the thin waistband of his panties, and drags the lace down Phichit’s skin. He soothes the skin wherever lace touched knowing that it could feel so uncomfortable against hot skin and an aching hard cock.

In an instant, Chris can see the second gift that Phichit has for him. The plug is a bright shade of pink, and contrasts against his skin beautifully. “Phichit, darling,” he runs a single digit around Phichit’s stretched rim. He’s slick, and twitching, and absolutely wonderful.

“I’m glad you like it Chris.”

“Absolutely,” he presses against the base of the plug, and then pulls it out slowly. Phichit’s breath catches in his throat as the widest part of the toy catches at his rim, and then Chris pushes it back inside.

“Ah-Chris!”

But he only repeats the motion, relishing each delicate cry from Phichit’s mouth.

“Chris, please. I’m not finished yet,” he explains frantically when Chris reaches around his front and places a firm hand on his cock. Chris moves the toy in tandem with rough uneven hand strokes.

“Ah, but,” Chris breathes hotly into his ear. “Let me play with my new toy.” He presses his mouth to Phichit’s in a sloppy open mouthed kiss. “Before he plays with me.” Because he knows that when Phichit wrestles control from him again it will be the last time, and he shall be at Phichit’s mercy again. The younger man may not relent once he understands the full raw power of seduction. Chris may not want to give it up once it occurs. It’s been so long since he’s been the recipient.

Chris lets go of Phichit’s cock. He pulls at the toy, and this time lets it fully slide out of Phichit’s hole.  “And you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Chris spread Phichit’s cheek’s wide and lean in for a quick taste. It’s a fleeting lap against his hole, for fear that he’d become addicted. Phichit’s gaping, ever so slightly, insinuating that he must have been waiting for him for quite some time. Phichit twitches against his mouth, and so he does it once more.

This time, he illicit a long low moan from Phichit. So he repeats the action, and then presses his tongue inside.

“Not fa-air,” Phichit whines and clutches at the sheets.

Chris continues to lap at his hole, and stretching him with his tongue. “Nothing about this encounter has been fair.” Chris doesn’t miss a beat.

“I’ll show you unfair.” Phichit rises, and switches their positions again. He pushes Chris down onto the bed, and straddles his hips. In one fluid motion, Phichit grabs Chris’ cock by the base and lines himself up with his hole. He slides down, and Chris feels no resistance along the way. Phichit has a vice grip on his cock, but he feels like fine satin. Soft. Tight. Dangerous.

Phichit only confirms this assumption. His eyes roll back into his head as he sinks down Chris’ cock. He braces himself against Chris’ chest with both hands splayed wide across his chest. Phichit moves his hips in slow circles, getting used to Chris.

“I forgot how big you were,” he all but purrs.

“I forgot how dangerous you were Phichit.” Chris strokes the side of his face, cups his chin, and presses thumb gently against Phichit’s mouth.

Immediately, Phichit accepts the digit, and hollows his cheeks around it much like he did his cock. Chris pushes back against the slow rocking motions of Phichit’s hips.

Slowly, gradually, Phichit’s strokes become longer and bolder. He pulls almost all the way off of Chris, and sinks back down, and each movement sends a wave of pleasure from his cock to the tips of his toes. He’s enraptured by this man, so earnestly and so completely.

For a moment, it is as if time slows down. All the air is taken from the room, and there’s nothing but the soft contented noises that Phichit makes, and his own sighs of pleasure, and the slap of skin against skin.

Phichit’s long elegant riding motions all too soon become disjointed and uneven. Phichit clenches around him, and drag against him, and it makes him feel urgently, desperately, like he needs to tell Phichit…. _anything_ to let him know that he understands how fortunate he is.

“You’re beautiful Phichit.”

Another roll of the hips, another soft moan.

“Enrapturing.”

Chris takes him into his hand, and Phichit lets out a long sigh. “Chris, for someone who likes to come so much, you make me wait so long,” and he says it with a sloppy love drunk half smile.

“But you’re worth it. Ah-“ He can feel his own orgasm. His breaths are uneven. It’s increasingly difficult to keep his gaze trained on Phichit, despite the fact that the boy is absolutely bewitching. “Like a fine aged wine.”

“Chris,” and his name spills from Phichit’s mouth and is tinged with need. It begs something that he very much wants to give. He isn’t delicate with Phichit. He knows full well that his partner isn’t made of glass and can get as good as he gives. His touch is firm, and he twists his wrist on the down stroke, although doing all of this while enveloped in Phichit’s tight wet heat is nigh on impossible.

 He feels like he’s accomplished an immense feat when Phichit comes across both of their stomachs.

Phichit is visibly tired, eyes blown wide, and fucked out, but he continues to rock his hips against Chris, and envelop him in that addictive friction over and over and over again. When Phichit’s voice is raw, and his eyes are pinpricked with teardrops from over stimulation, and he bits his lip because he cannot contain his frustration, Chris _finally_ comes. He can feel his cock pulse deep inside Phichit, and although he’ done this with a fair number of partners, he can’t remember the last time he felt quite _this_ satisfied.

* * *

 

The two of them do many things during Chris' short visit. By the end of the first day of sight seeing. Phichit doesn't even bother angling the selfie-stick. He simply thrusts it into Chris' hand, loving the way that his longer arms provide a greater range within each shot. 

They take the train out to the beach. Phichit rents them a cabana. Chris watches him cautiously as he goes out into the water. He much prefers to hide in the shade, nurse a cocktail, enjoy the view. Phichit’s body looks wonderful with droplets of water streaming down his chest. Phichit returns to the cabana dripping wet and half hard in his tight bathing suit. Phichit’s body looks wonderful with droplets of water streaming down his chest. His body is cold to the touch, but Chris warms him up again in no time.

They sleep the afternoons away, and then Phichit takes him to all the famous night clubs in Bangkok. Phichit routinely gets drunk off of two cocktails. They spend night after night catching strobe light glances of one another on the dance floor. They grind against each other until they’re so aching hard, that Chris pays a small fortune for access to a VIP room, or they simply press up against one another in an alleyway.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Phichit takes him to four temples in one day, and then when they are finished asks Chris if he can fuck him. Of course he agrees. Phichit is nervous, but so impossibly good at what he does. He’s had time to explore his own body by now, and know what he himself likes. He transfers these things over to being with Chris, and modifies them quickly to his own preferences.

Phichit is, and has been since they first drunkenly kissed at the gala at Worlds, a very quick study. Phichit is a ball of energy, and this transfers over to the way that he has sex. It’s fast paced, and it’s frantic, but it’s shockingly gentle and warm.

It seems that no matter what the situation they keep matching each other: drink for drink, orgasm for orgasm, quip for quip.

* * *

 

Chris wakes on his last morning in Bangkok with the sun is streaming into the hotel room through parted curtains. Chris catches sight of a large silver teapot and tray containing two large white bowls on the table. He peeks over to reveal twin bowls of rice porridge.

At that moment, Chris’ stomach growls, and he realizes that their dinner last night was large brown bottles of Singha beer, and 69’ing until they were both milked dry.  It looks like the best food in the world.

“Hey,” Phichit rests his phone on the desk. He’s wearing a short silk black robe, the same kind that Chris likes to wear whenever he’s entertaining. He wonders if Phichit adopted such a garment after their initial tryst in Helsinki.

Phichit joins him in bed, and kisses him softly on the lips. It would be easy right now, wonderful even, to push Phichit onto the bed and have his fill of the boy. Except, if the last seven days have been any indicator, it is impossible to have his fill.

But his stomach growls, and Phichit breaks the kiss all too soon. “I’m starving! Let’s eat.”

Chris agrees, and balances his own bowl in his hand.

“You don’t have a lot of time left here. Is there anything specific you’d like to do?”

“What do you like to do when you’re home?” Because he knows that Phichit has only just recently moved back to Thailand.

“I’m super boring when I’m home. All I do is go down to the café and eat green curry between classes. Skate. Visit home. I moved out recently, but we’re not at my place because I live with three other people. “

“That’s right,” Chris supplies. “A gymnast, a weight lifter?” His mind goes blank. He blames it the sight of Phichit’s thighs barely contained in black silk and no caffeine. He pours himself a cup of tea in order to remedy at least _part_ of this problem.

“Two gymnasts and a weight lifter. It’d be cramped which is why you’re not staying at my place. I share a room with Anuman, and he’s great but he snores.” Phichit takes another mouthful of porridge.

“Mon chou, Let’s do those things. I told you. I wanted to become immersed while I was here,” for he would be an awful guest if he made Phichit be a tourist in his own home for the duration of his stay.

“Seriously?” Phichit dunks the spoon into the bowl. “Things I do are kind of boring.” Although by now he knows that Phichit was also unimpressed at being fed another line.

“Phichit,” Chris presses a kiss to his cheek. “At this point, every temple and every night club looks the same to me.”

* * *

 

Although it was not high on his priority list, especially when going to tropical climates, Chris did bring a pair of skates, and was thus spared the torture of dealing with dull rented ones. As he laces his skates, his hip brushes against Phichit’s on the bench.

“This isn’t my skate club,” Phichit confesses when they’re out on the ice. The sound of their blades against smooth ice is an almost deafening constant _shunk shunk shunk._ “This is where I learned to skate when I was a kid.”

It’s an extremely intimate confession. One that Chris isn’t sure what to do with.

They don’t do anything grand on the ice. No jumps, few spins other than those that are the most simple. They do simple compulsories side by side, and Chris wonders if he should grab Phichit’s gloved hand.

* * *

 

The interior walls of the café are painted a bright marigold color that almost shine brighter than the sun. The molding is trimmed pale blue, and the chairs are painted orange. When Chris sits he can feel pockmarks and deep grooves in the wood underneath all of the paint.

It’s stifling hot inside, and the ceiling fans that slowly oscillate do nothing to deal with the oppressive humidity.

Phichit orders for the both of them. He talks to the waitress in a tone that is eager and animated. As he talks, he grab Chris’ hand across the table.

It makes him blush. Christophe Giacometti has made plenty of people blush. However, Christophe Giacometti himself does not blush. It’s such a strange turn of events.

* * *

 

After being introduced to each of Phichit’s hamsters, which are housed in the living room, Chris wades across a sea of clothes strewn about the floor. He climbs up onto the top bunk. The bed is unmade, and the sheets look as if they need a wash. The room stinks of the distinctive scent of young man.

That is to say, the room stinks of cum, and he’ll need a shower as soon as he leaves.

Chris extends his hand, and hoists Phichit upwards onto the bed with him.  “Can you make it up here yourself when no one’s around? Or does your brute of a housemate throw you up here when it’s time for bed.”

“I can climb up here just fine,” Phichit insists.

“It’s very intimate,” Chris notes. Despite his insistence as petulant teenager to be sent away to one of those stuffy boarding schools where boys were housed with other petulant boys, his parents never entertained that particular desire of his. In college, he lived in a boarding house, yes…With an ancient spinster, and a doctoral student whom he saw all of three times in four years. “Do you and Anuman ever...?”

“Yeah right,” Phichit scoffs. “I didn’t even jerk off the first month I lived here I was so terrified. Now? Mostly the shower, or when I’m on the phone with you, he’s in class and I jam the chair in front of the door.”

“Ah,” Chris rubs at the stubble on his chin. “I’d always wanted roommate. It seems like it could be a lot of fun.” And although the room is smelly and the bed is questionable at best, he moves in close to steal a kiss from Phichit.

Phichit kisses him back. He’s slow to deepen the kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that asks a silent question. One that Chris isn’t sure he has the answer for. When they part, Phichit sucks in air and spills out words that Chris knows are inevitable given the circumstances. “I haven’t been with anyone else. I haven’t even kissed anyone else since Helsinki.” And then he supplies quickly. “Hope you’re cool with that.”

Chris slots his mouth over Phichit’s. He does not deepen the kiss. He simply breathes into Phichit’s mouth, and hopes that the softness of the kiss says all it is that he needs to say. He rephrases things by kissing his high cheekbones, the tip of his nose, and his forehead. He hopes that he says it when he pushes Phichit down onto the sheets, and crushes their bodies together in a vice tight embrace.

He’s asked to see all of these tremendously personal places and people. He’s dragged them from superficial into something nuanced and genuine. They’re simply two souls who want to be exposed.

Phichit wasn’t supposed to be a lover that lingered. He’d simply intended to give the boy what he wanted, and take what he wanted, and make the best of a very unfortunate situation.

So much for that sentiment.

In that moment, it’s very clear to him that he’s lingered just as much as Phichit has.

 


End file.
